


Weepy

by impalawinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 16:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13574400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalawinchester/pseuds/impalawinchester
Summary: Sam and Dean have been on the road for a few years and Dean is again realizing how in love with Sam he is - and how very wrong his feelings are.  They're out in the middle of the night at the motel pool for a swim.  Sam has a confession.  And Dean finally gets what he's been pining for his whole life.





	Weepy

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first wincest fic, so let me know what you think! enjoy :)))

Dean never got weepy. It was one of the things he prided himself on – his restraint from chick flick moments, from tears and pain and hugging-it-out. Dean was strong, had to be strong, for Sam. But Sam made him weak. 

Sam was more than his kid brother. Sam was Dean’s son, Dean’s best friend, his crutch, his partner. Sam was Dean’s whole world, and without him, Dean couldn’t keep moving forward. He’d learned that lesson the hard way more times than he’d care to remember. But at that very moment, separation was far away and they were safe. Ish.

They were in a motel, as usual. They’d just gotten back from the burger joint down the road, where they’d picked up a greasy dinner. Sam hated it. Dean wished that he could make it better. Change this life of theirs. 

But he couldn’t, and even though it frustrated him and made him want to shout at the world until he was blue in the face, Dean accepted it. He could, however, take the gun from Sam and clean it himself.

“Thanks, Dean.”

Sam had been gone from Stanford for a few years, at that point. And Dean had missed him when he was gone. Spent more nights than he’d care to admit laying in the dark wishing his dork of a brother was there. 

Sam, in all of his tanned, lanky wonderfulness. Sam, with a stubborn will and a sharp jaw because he was so damn skinny and he had a mole on his cheek, just next to his nose. Sam, who didn’t even know that he was the last thought in Dean’s mind at night and the first thought in the morning. 

But now Sam was here, and he was leaning back in his chair reading Dad’s journal and his eyebrows were bunched up in that way of his that Dean loved so much. 

Dean didn’t know when he’d figured it out. That he loved Sam more than he should, that is. Sometime soon after John was giving him disapproving looks for not going out with girls and returning home with hickeys as soon as he should’ve. Sometime during the stretches of time the brothers would be at Uncle Bobby’s out in the backyard, picking through the old cars. 

Sometime when Dean didn’t even realize before it was too late. 

It was sick, it was wrong, it was weird as hell – it was illegal, too, which was the most normal thing about it. Dean could handle illegal, just like he could handle credit card scams and breaking and entering. But incest? He hated himself for craving it. 

And yet Dean couldn’t help it, no matter how many times he pinched himself for feeling a blush creep across his face if someone thought they were a couple and he wished they were, or when Sam came out of the bathroom naked because he forgot his towel and Dean was powerless to stop the twitch in his pants.

He wanted Sam, bad. 

He wanted to be able to ask for one bed in whatever shit ass motel they decided on and be able to hold his brother’s hand without getting any weird looks. He wanted to wake up to Sam next to him, to hear Sam tell him that he loved him. 

He wanted to kiss Sam’s mole and kiss him in general – Dean stopped himself. Spiraling into the longing didn’t help anyone. Sam would be sickened, and then Dean would really be fucked. If Sam knew, then Dean wouldn’t have him, period.

So Dean put the gun down and picked up the next one. Sam was asking him if he’d read something that Dad wrote an entry about - some hunt in Pennsylvania that didn’t quite make sense.  
Pennsylvania was 300 miles away, but 300 miles in a car with Sam was home for Dean. 

“We can leave in the morning,” Dean said and put the second gun down. Then he picked up an empty flask and handed it over to Sam for refilling, which Sam did in the bathroom sink. After it was full, Sam recited the blessing and tossed it back into their hunting bag. 

Dean flopped himself back on his respective bed and crossed his ankles along with his arms in an attempt to welcome sleep. He needed his minimal shut eye if they’d be driving all day and damn him if he let Sam drive. 

Yet sleep would not come and he could hear Sam flipping pages in Dad’s journal or shifting in his seat every so often and so Dean allowed himself to sneak glances at Sam through half-closed eyes. 

He never got tired of looking at his brother, with his endless legs and strong arms. Dean liked Sam’s hands, with their long fingers and calluses. He wished Sam’s hands didn’t have those calluses, that Sam could go back to law school and get a good job and live a normal life.

But then Dean realized that if he had never gone to get Sam then Jess would probably still be alive and Dean never would’ve found Dad and they never would’ve fixed their relationship. They never would’ve become brothers again. 

So secretly Dean was happy it had all gone to shit because at least he had Sam. He’d been lost without Sam. He needed his partner-in-crime, his brother, his whole world back with him on the road, doing what they did best.

Dean was being selfish, he knew that. Finding happiness in their situation, in the fact that they were all the other had and that Sam and him leaned on each other. Finding happiness in the fact that if Jess hadn’t died and if Dad hadn’t gone missing, Sam would be living that apple pie life and Dean would be alone and a worse alcoholic than he already was and still being Dad’s obedient little soldier. 

Dean was fucked up on so many levels.

The older Winchester shoved the thoughts away and looked back at his brother. Now, he was openly staring at him hunched over the journal. He needed Sam, but Sam needed him and Sam had said himself that he never fit in at Stanford. 

Their life wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t fair, and it had too much gray area – but one thing was for certain. Sam loved his brother. Dean couldn’t let himself forget that – how could he? He felt it when Sam retorted with a ‘jerk’ or when he laughed at one of Dean’s crappy jokes or when Dean sauntered out of a hunt victorious, covered in blood and guts but happy.

Sam loved Dean. But not in the way Dean wanted so desperately. And if Dean continued sitting there he was going to lose his goddamn mind obsessing over his silent urges, so he stood. 

“I can’t sleep and there is a crap pool out back that is calling my name,” Dean announced, shrugging off the flannel it was too hot to be wearing anyway in July in Indiana. 

“Knock yourself out,” Sam said, still not looking up from the pages. 

“You’re coming with me in case I drown and need saving,” Dean said and pulled the journal away. Sam huffed but followed his brother out to the pool. The lights in it weren’t even on – it was eleven at night and it was closed. But no one was around and Dean needed to get rid of some energy. Besides, when was the last time Dean had flinched at breaking a rule?

Sam sat on the edge of the small pool and put his feet in the water, then leaned back on the cement ground to look up at the stars. The ground was still warm from the day’s sun, but the water was cool.

Dean swam a few laps, enjoying his muscles moving and working without the strain of a hunt and gravity. Eventually he floated on his back, looking up at the stars with Sam. But Dean was still restless, and the night sky didn’t hold his attention for long. 

He swam over to the edge of the pool where Sam was, still laying back with his feet in the water. Dean tugged at his toes, which were wrinkled from being submerged. Sam hardly stirred, only put one of his arms behind his head. 

“Come in,” Dean said, fingers curling around Sam’s calf, ready to drag him if necessary. 

“Dean…” Sam began to protest.

“Have a little fun.” 

“Our lives aren’t fun, Dean,” Sam said and sat up a little. Dean could see the uneven line of his shoulders in the minimal light, his shaggy hair, and the side of his face in the light from the motel sign. It was the side of his face with the mole. 

“I know, Sammy,” Dean said and let go of his brother’s foot. 

“It’s Sam.” And with that, he flopped back down, bending a knee in the process so his foot was on the edge of the pool.

Dean moved to the side and hoisted himself out of the water, nearly losing his boxers in the process. The older Winchester sprawled out on the cement, night air chilly against his exposed, wet skin. Goosebumps rose, but the ground was warm beneath him and heat radiated off of Sam.

Dean longed to curl up in Sam’s side, to hear Sam protest getting him wet – but it would be harmless protesting. 

“Just trying to make the best out of it,” Dean started, Sam’s head turned away, “you know this life is hard. But being serious all the time? Sam, you can’t just keep your head down and get the job done.”

“And why not?” Sam asked, turning his head back to face Dean. 

“Because you’ll turn into Dad if you do that.” 

“Oh, so now Dad isn’t perfect?” Sam said, voice rising and neck tight with tension.

“Sam, c’mon. You know what I mean.” Sam was frozen for a few long moments before he finally relaxed again. 

“Our lives are one long train of crap,” he eventually whispered. Dean wanted to grab his hands and his face and make sure he knew that Dean wouldn’t trade his life for any other if it meant that he wouldn’t have Sam. Dean wanted – needed – him to know that without his brother, Dean was incapable of surviving. 

“Not right now it’s not,” Dean ended up saying. Sam scoffed. 

“I’m serious. I just took a swim, Baby’s ready to go for tomorrow, we had burger for dinner –“ Dean smiled at Sam when he said that, “ – and it’s you and me against the world, like always.” But he was unable to look at Sam as he finished his sentence, for fear that he would betray himself. But Sam still needed to hear it. 

“I’m not all that great, Dean,” Sam said. His face was scrunched up in distress. Dean shook his head. Sam was beyond great. Sam was everything. 

“I’m a freak,” Sam insisted. Dean sat up and put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. 

“Hey. You are not a freak. The visions, the demon blood – forget all that shit. You’re not a freak because of it.” Sam laughed wryly. 

“And that’s not even the start of it,” he said half under his breath. Dean was torn up, seeing Sam tormented over the crap he couldn’t control. It wasn’t Sam’s fault. But Dean didn’t know how to prove it to him, didn’t know what to say to show him he wasn’t what he thought he was. 

“Sam, it’s not your fault,” Dean said and squeezed his baby brother’s shoulder.

“You know what, Dean? It is my fault. You know why? Because I’m fucking sick and even after four years with Jess I’m still in love with you.” Sam was panting, Dean was speechless, and they were both silent before Sam finally broke it. 

“Still think I’m not a freak?” Dean’s head was spinning. Sam was in love with Dean? Sam felt the same thing for Dean that Dean felt for Sam? Could Dean have imagined it? Sam looked absolutely terrified, mouth slightly open with ragged breaths, and Dean was struggling to piece together words. Sam was so much better at words. And Sam had obviously not intended to say that. 

So Sam was already up and walking back to the room, shoulders tense under his tee shirt and bare feet leaving prints behind him. Dean was shocked, stuck in place, looking after his brother, wondering if it was a sick joke. If he was seeing things, if this was a nightmare, a dream. 

He jumped up and ran after his brother, grabbed his arm and turned him. Sam kept his head down, shoulders rolled in, ashamed. 

“I know I’m a freak, Dean. I’m sorry. I – I’ll leave.”

“Are you fucking with me?” Dean asked, all of his instincts telling him to pull Sam close and fix him and make him feel better but he couldn’t – not if he wasn’t sure that Sam was in it with him. Dean wouldn’t make another move unless he knew for sure we wouldn’t lose Sam for it. 

“No, Dean, I’m not,” Sam answered quietly, anticipating a punch, maybe, based on the way his face was screwed up but exposed to Dean for punishment he felt he deserved. 

Dean pulled Sam against him in one quick motion, held onto him like he always did when Sam was upset or dying or otherwise required comforting. Dean pulled his brother down into his arms, dug his chin into Sam’s shoulder, and held onto him for dear life. 

Dean closed his eyes and felt Sam against him and although he felt unsteady on the new ground, he was ready to figure it out, as long as he had his brother by his side. 

Sam’s arms slowly embraced Dean, too. At first, gently circling Dean’s waist but when he saw Dean wasn’t letting go anytime soon, he clung to his brother right back. Dean needed Sam. And Sam needed Dean. How had they managed to apart for four years?

“Sammy.”

And the two of them stayed that way for a long time, just holding each other, just feeling the other’s heartbeat, just letting the moment last. Party because looking at each other would be a whole new world, partly because neither could believe that it was real. 

But Dean did pull back eventually, and Sam looked terrified again, waiting for the other shoe to drop. So Dean reached up and cupped his brother’s cheek, tugged him close again. He could handle Sam’s fear. He always had. 

Sam gasped when their lips touched, and although Dean knew it was wrong, and that they shouldn’t, he didn’t give a damn. Screw the inhibitions. 

Dean held onto Sam, kissing him like he’d never kissed another person in is life, and Sam was solid in his arms, pressing them against each other and dragging his hands across his back and through his hair and around his neck – just as long as they were touching.

“Wait wait wait, Dean, hold on,” Sam said after he broke away, gasping for air, “this is wrong.” 

“Damn straight it is,” Dean said and went for Sam’s neck. He was high on it – on Sam. He’d waited in agonizing restraint for years. For his whole life, really.

“I didn’t think you – I thought you’d tell me to go to hell,” Sam managed to get out between kisses. 

“Yeah, well, diddo.” Sam laughed a little, ran his thumb over Dean’s lips. 

“I missed you so much,” Sam admitted. Dean knew he was talking about Stanford. 

“Sam, I can’t even tell you how long I’ve wanted to do this for. And I know it’s wrong. But you know what? Our lives are already screwed up. We deserve a little happiness,” Dean said, holding Sam’s face securely. He needed Sam to believe him, to understand him. Because they couldn’t go back now. There was no before to return to from here. 

“Okay,” Sam finally said, nodding. His fingers were curled around Dean’s neck, thumb brushing against his jaw. Dean smiled and laughed a little in relief at his Sammy. 

“Dean,” Sam whispered and dragged his brother close again for another kiss. But it was slower, softer. They were gentler with each other, tender, although their hands were rough and they had seen too much already and everything about the situation was wrong – except it wasn’t. 

The fit together, that much was clear. They had always leaned on each other, absolutely always, from before Sam could walk to when they would be uprooted from the current school John stuck them in to the moment that Sam had turned his back on Stanford and chose the Impala and his brother over exams and law school. It was unhealthy, it was wrong. But it was their reality.

So Dean let it happen. He let Sam guide them back into the motel room, let Sam tug him into Sam’s bed. They were curled up in the sheets, tangled up in the other, kissing and smiling at each other like two dorks in love. 

Dean let Sam kiss each of his freckles even though it made him blush, let Sam tell him he was gorgeous even though it was embarrassing. Dean even let Sam be the big spoon, let himself be tucked into Sam’s chest and feel his brother’s arms holding him close, one hand over his heart. 

It was more than Dean ever could’ve imagined. He hoped Sam felt the same way. He was getting weepy, despite his best efforts to avoid it. He was grateful Sam couldn’t see his face. 

And when Sam struggled for words sometime later? A few “Dean, I – ”s and “Dean, I can’t”s tumbling from his mouth haltingly? It was rare Sam couldn’t find the words. 

Dean turned in Sam’s arms, tears in his eyes, and held his little brother’s face before he kissed him once more. 

“I love you, too, Sammy.”


End file.
